


Yes ... Back To Work If You Don't Mind, Part I

by akamww3



Series: Advantages [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Married Mollcroft, Mollcroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5610856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamww3/pseuds/akamww3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Molly prepares to return to Barts after her maternity leave ...</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes ... Back To Work If You Don't Mind, Part I

_Fifteenth of November, A Sunday …_

“After having enjoyed an intimate relationship with your breasts for quite some time now, I feel confident in predicting an immediate and non-negotiable rejection of this … most _inferior_ substitute,” Mycroft concluded with a grimace at the item at hand.

“Michael’s assessment will be based on slightly different criteria from what’s relevant for _your_ purposes, _Mister_ Holmes,” Molly said, plucking the baby bottle nipple from his fingers while ignoring his chuckle. She inspected what had been her first choice again and wrinkled her nose before tossing it into the carrier bag. “But you’re probably right about that one.” She looked at the other three nipple options lined up on the worktop and sighed. “I don’t think it’s going to make much difference which one we try. I hope Michael won’t need to bottle-feed at all and can go straight from breast to cup, but …” She sighed again, then looked up with a smile and change of subject. “How about some tea?”

“What about the nipples –”

“Never mind,” Molly said, tossing the rest of them into the bag. She was returning to work from her maternity leave in two days, but only on a part-time basis until after New Year’s. She’d wanted to prepare Michael to take a bottle in case an “emergency” situation arose, but she had every reason to believe she could coordinate his usual nursing schedule with her work schedule. “If Michael needs to take a bottle, any one of them will probably be as good – or bad - as the others.” She filled the kettle, flipped the switch, then went to the refrigerator and began removing a stack of identically sized food storage containers, all neatly labeled. Mycroft watched as Molly arranged the small plastic boxes in rows on the island tabletop. “You can help me choose what solid foods to try him on instead.”

“Molly, my dear, might you be taking the selection process a bit too seriously?”

“Too _seriously?”_ Molly straightened and looked at him incredulously.

Mycroft rose to his feet and bowed, smiling, “My apologies,” before walking over to finish preparing the tea.

~~~~~

Just before five o’clock, Molly stopped in the doorway to the study, grinning at the sight of Mycroft working on his laptop one-handed while avoiding the curious fingers Michael was trying to poke into his ear. “I hope you’re not exposing him to anything too hush-hush. I don’t think he’s aware yet of the need for discretion.”

Mycroft settled back in his chair, turning Michael to rest against his chest facing Molly, then cupped his hands under the baby’s bottom and knees. “I’ll have to warn him of the dire consequences of passing state secrets to his new crèche friends.”  

Molly rounded his desk, perched on its edge beside them, then brushed a finger over Michael’s cheek, rubbing a line of drool off his chin with the back of her knuckle. “He’ll have two more teeth soon.”

“The drooling volume has certainly increased,” Mycroft said, cocking his head so he could see Michael’s face, then firmly rubbed the pad of his thumb over the center of the baby’s upper gum. “Not long now until they come through.” The baby caught Mycroft’s thumb in his hand and began gnawing on its edge.

“Let me take him,” Molly said. “It’s time for his great adventure.”

“I’ll come with you,” Mycroft said, rising to his feet as Molly straightened away from the desk. “Trying one’s first solid food is obviously a _very_ serious proposition,” he added, drolly.

“Uh-huh,” she said, suppressing an eye roll as she led the way to the kitchen and Michael’s new highchair. Half an hour later, the results were in. Of the fruits and vegetables she’d cut to a size Michael could hold in his fist, the parsnip strip was gummed a bit before being dropped to the floor, half of the avocado strip was eaten then dropped, the peach strip went down well, as did a small bite of banana. The spoonful of pureed carrot Molly offered him proved to be an excellent medium for an impromptu bit of abstract art on the highchair’s tray. A spoonful of rice cereal had left one side of his hair sticking up in clumps and a slick residue on his tiny starfish fingers after Molly reacted too slowly to Michael’s interest in the spoon. When she moved his fingers away from his hair, she somehow knocked the cereal bowl off the table.

While Molly cleaned the floor around the highchair, Mycroft unstrapped and lifted Michael against his chest, manfully suppressing a grimace at the feel of sticky hands being rubbed over his cheeks by his delighted son. The important point was that Michael had successfully eaten some solid food - and had achieved the milestone with laughter and in a spirit of fun, mostly thanks to Molly … who’d given Mycroft her version of The Look when he visibly winced at the glop of cereal that had landed so perfectly in the thin gap between his sock and the side edge of his shoe.

“A shower seems in order,” Mycroft said, tightening his hold on Michael when the baby twisted around to watch Molly wipe up the last bit of cereal.

“Don’t forget the baby shampoo.” Molly rose from her crouch and lifted onto her toes to give Michael a kiss on the cheek. “You did wonderfully well, sweetie.” She dropped her heels, but after a glance at Mycroft she again lifted up to press her lips to his. “You did wonderfully well, too.” She echoed his smile and lowered her heels to the floor, then tilted her head to study his left shoe and the dried flecks of cereal marring its supple leather surface. She looked back up at him, grinning. “It was a noble sacrifice you made there.”

~~~~~

Molly was taking her own shower after putting Michael to bed once he’d finished nursing and was trying to shake off that almost forgotten Sunday-night gloom she’d often experienced during her teens, dreading the return to school on Monday morning even though she hadn’t actually _disliked_ school. It was more the loss of freedom after a weekend’s adventures, the return to the routine. Molly truly wanted to return to work, but the reservations she continued to have at leaving Michael’s care to others, no matter how limited the basis, were worsened by that old sense of freedom lost, dull routine imposed. She knew that wasn’t the case now – that her job was rarely pure routine. _But._

At least she had one more day left of her official leave. Molly sighed, then finished rinsing her hair and stepped out of the shower. Awhile later, she set the hairdryer aside and slowly smiled as she ran the brush through her hair. That teenaged Molly could never have imagined the delicious distraction who’d be waiting for her in the next room one day …

Mycroft was momentarily taken aback by the intensity Molly exhibited when she, quite literally, _pounced_ on him after crossing to the bed from her dressing room.

But then the book he’d been reading toppled to the floor, forgotten.

~~~~~

The following morning, Molly entered the kitchen carrying Michael and found Sherlock sitting with Mycroft at the island, eating a heavily jam-laden scone.

“Good morning, Sherlock,” she said, coming to a stop beside Mycroft’s stool. She tightened her grip on the baby and rubbed her free hand between Mycroft’s shoulder blades where her brother-in-law couldn’t see it. “What brings you here so early?”

“I wanted to go over a few things with you concerning tomorrow –”

“Your body parts wish-list, I suppose,” she broke in.

“Well, that too of course, but we need to talk about Dr. Denis.”

“Oh god - what have you done to him?”

_“Nothing,”_ Sherlock insisted, then popped the last of the scone into his mouth.

Molly decided to let it go for the moment and hitched Michael higher against her shoulder as she crossed the room. She was pouring a cup of tea when Mrs. Collingwood came through the door from the larder, carrying a square plastic box. “Good morning, Miss Molly.”

“Good morning, Mrs. C.” Molly turned to lean against the worktop, eyeing the food container curiously.

The housekeeper glanced at the box, then looked at Sherlock before turning back to Molly. “Sherlock likes my mince pies so I’m giving him some of the ones I froze last week.” She started across the kitchen. “I’ll just put them in the freezer here until he’s ready to go.”

Molly carried her cup and saucer to the island and was about to sit on the stool by Mycroft when she noticed Michael was staring at Sherlock. She edged around the table and leaned toward her brother-in-law. “Here.” Sherlock automatically shied away, but his eyes remained focused on the baby. When Michael’s body tensed, Molly took a firmer grip on him, knowing he was getting ready to launch himself toward his uncle. Sherlock recognized the baby’s intent and his eyes widened, then met Molly’s. “Come on, Sherlock. Take him so I can have some breakfast.”

Sherlock finally raised his hands and allowed Molly to transfer Michael to him. Molly immediately turned away, leaving the two of them to get on with it. Sherlock had held the baby before, but it was usually through some sort of coercion, most often by Violet during family get-togethers.

Molly took her place by Mycroft and leaned over to steal a bit of bacon off his plate, giving him a playful sidelong glance. “I’m glad Sherlock’s arrival didn’t put you off breakfast entirely.” When Sherlock drew a quick breath, she met his eyes with a hard look … a warning against taking advantage of the opening she’d just inadvertently given him. Sherlock subsided, and Molly turned back to Mycroft. “What time do you have to leave?”

Mycroft glanced at the clock on the wall. “Twenty minutes.”

Molly sighed. “I should have come down sooner.”

“No,” he said quietly as their eyes met, “I’m glad you slept in a bit.”

Sherlock snorted derisively. “Look at you … Molly so blatantly besotted and brother dear looking like an amorous thought never crossed his mind, despite the fact that you two obviously enjoyed quite a night -”

_“Sherlock!”_ Molly glared at him, trying to ignore her blush. She suddenly realized Mrs. Collingwood was still in the room and her blush deepened as she glanced at the housekeeper and away again. “If you expect me to get you any more body parts, Sherlock Holmes, don’t you ever –” She broke off, awkwardly. “Just _don’t.”_ Molly turned to look at Mycroft and saw he was staring at Sherlock over the rim of his teacup. She suppressed a shiver as she dropped her eyes to her own cup, then brought it to her mouth. She knew Mycroft and Sherlock loved each other, though neither would likely admit it even on pain of death, but at times they still went at each other like the worst of enemies. She thought she’d shrivel where she stood – or sat, in Sherlock’s case – if ever on the receiving end of such a deadly stare from her husband.

Molly sipped her tea in silence for a few moments, then raised her gaze to Michael. He was clutching the lapel of Sherlock’s jacket with one hand, while the other moved slowly but determinedly toward Sherlock’s curls. Molly considered intervening, but hesitated just long enough for the baby to get a firm grasp on a lock of hair behind Sherlock’s left ear. Molly suppressed a grin at the resulting pained squawk from her brother-in-law and delighted squeal from her son as he jerkily pulled his uncle’s hair again. She quickly glanced at Mycroft and their eyes met in shared amusement before he rose to his feet and pushed the stool under the edge of the table.

Mycroft strolled around the island and took hold of Michael’s hand and carefully released Sherlock’s hair. “No hair pulling, Michael,” he said calmly, then took the baby from his brother and turned toward the housekeeper. “Thanks for a lovely breakfast, Mrs. C.” He headed toward the door, then paused and half-turned. “Molly?”

Molly jumped up to follow them, throwing a quick “back shortly” over her shoulder at Sherlock. Mycroft had waited for her to catch up, and the three of them went upstairs. Once in their bedroom, he transferred Michael to Molly, gave her a brief kiss, then crossed the room and went through the door to his dressing room.

When Mycroft returned, Molly was sitting on the edge of the bed, playing peek-a-boo with a giggling Michael. She glanced up when he came to stand over her. “Are you truly besotted, my dear?”

“Most blatantly, my love,” Molly said, lifting her face as he stooped to kiss her.

When their lips separated, Mycroft’s eyes met hers, and he slowly smiled. “I can assure you that amorous thoughts quite frequently pass through my mind when you’re in the vicinity.”

“I know,” she said, returning his smile, then grimaced. “Your brother can be an idiot about some things.”

He pursed his lips and lifted his chin in acknowledgment as he straightened. “And alarmed by certain others.”

~~~~~

Molly focused on encouraging Michael to push himself higher off the floor and ignored Sherlock as he made another lap around the music room. Molly clapped her hands when the baby succeeded in briefly raising his bottom off the floor by pushing back onto his knees while lying on his tummy. She’d noticed him making a rocking movement the day before and thought he was in the very early stages of learning to crawl.

Sherlock sighed loudly as he finally dropped into a chair near them and pulled his feet onto its seat before wrapping his arms around his knees. “Is this what you’ve been doing for the past six months?”

“No, Sherlock – Michael couldn’t do this months ago.”

He snorted. “You know what I mean.”

Molly glanced up at him. “Then yes, I’ve been working with Michael as much as possible to help him strengthen his neck muscles and be able to hold his head up. Sitting up properly and eventually walking requires him to be able to control his head. He’s getting pretty good at sitting up, but we still have to be ready for him to wobble every time.”

Sherlock dropped his feet to the floor, crossed his arms over his chest, and silently stared at her. “Much more of this brain-numbing activity,” he finally said dismissively, “and you won’t be of any use to me whatsoever.”

“Excuse me?” Molly pressed her lips in a thin line and released a long breath through her nose, then narrowed her eyes and continued, darkly, “Helping my baby to develop both mentally and physically is mind-numbing? Useless?”

Sherlock blinked in surprise. “Of course it is.” Molly simply stared at him disbelievingly. “What do you think has happened to your ability with a scalpel over all these months? And you’ve surely lost the deductive skills you’d finally started to pick up, if only on a basic level.”

Molly continued to stare at him, utterly confounded by his cluelessness. She finally gave him a withering look and turned back to Michael, lowering herself onto her stomach beside him. She adjusted his arms so they were stretched out before him on the floor and, after making sure he was watching her, lifted herself onto all fours and rocked back and forth for several moments before stretching out again.

“What the _hell_ are you doing, Molly?”

“Don’t be so stupid, Sherlock,” she said caustically. “Surely it’s not a difficult deduction.”

He didn’t respond, and she was determined to ignore him while she worked with Michael. After a couple of increasingly tense minutes, he finally replied, sounding truly surprised. “You’re _an_ gry.”

Molly briefly glanced at him over her shoulder then turned back to Michael. _No shit, Sherlock,_ she thought, but was trying not to swear in front of the baby since the next time she let loose with a particularly rude word would probably be when Michael was paying attention and then ended up using it as his first word. In public. “Gee, genius … what gives you _that_ idea.”

Sherlock uncrossed his arms, then slumped back in the chair, pressed his fingertips together and rested his chin on them. “I don’t understand why you’re so angry,” he said, studying her carefully. “What I said is the truth.”

Molly glanced at him again, then shook her head and exhaled noisily. “I disagree with you, Sherlock,” she said, then twisted around to sit up on one hip as she stared at him, “and it’s hurtful to realize you think so little of Michael that you consider my spending time with him, working with him, is of no value.”

Sherlock stared silently at Molly, his brows knitted in a frown. He finally blinked slowly several times and then sat up, rubbing a palm over his face before dropping both hands to his thighs. “Oh. You thought I meant it wasn’t worth spending time with Michael. No, I can see that working one-on-one with him is good for his growth mentally and physically – and obviously worth your time as a parent. I meant it wasn’t good for _you_ as my pathologist to spend so much time with a baby. It has to be detrimental to your thinking processes. He can hardly provide any mental stimulation.”

Molly rolled onto her stomach and dropped her forehead onto her crossed arms. “Oh, Sherlock,” she groaned to the floorboards. “You have no idea that you’re being insulting, do you.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you, Molly,” he said earnestly. “Or Michael. Forgive me?”

“Mustn’t lose your source for body parts,” she muttered against her arm.

“Sorry?”

“Nothing,” Molly said, then ground her teeth for a moment before lifting her head and releasing a long breath through pursed lips. She turned to Michael and laughed when she saw he was pursing his own lips, apparently mimicking her. She rolled closer and grabbed him around the ribs and wiggled her fingers, causing him to chuckle in delight. She bent to nuzzle his neck, then lifted him with her when she sat up and swiveled on her bottom toward Sherlock. Once she’d folded her legs before her, she settled Michael on his bottom in the nest she’d created, his back against her midriff, his little legs propped over her calves, then took his hands in hers and waved his arms around as if he were conducting an orchestra. “So tell me what you did to Dr. Denis.”

_“Nothing.”_

Molly sighed. “What would Dr. Denis say?”

Sherlock jiggled his leg jerkily. “I couldn’t say.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“I’d rather not.”

_“Sherlock,”_ she protested. “I’ll hear about it tomorrow. You might as well tell me now.”

Sherlock shot up and began pacing around the music room again. “I might have taken something without permission.”

“Might have?”

_“You_ would have given it to me if you’d _been_ there,” he said, accusingly.

She saw no point in arguing with that reasoning. “What was it?”

“I had a case involving the death of a young woman reportedly due to self-inflicted paracetamol poisoning, but the level of necrosis was –”

“You took a liver from the morgue without permission?”

“Just to the lab. It didn’t leave the building.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Oh, Sherlock.”

“Dr. Denis was taking too long.”

“Wait a minute – you took a liver from a corpse?”

Sherlock looked at her, brows knitted in a frown. “He’d already finished the postmortem.”

“ _Sherlock!_ It was an ongoing case.”

“He was taking too long.”

Molly tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling, then groaned. “If you don’t watch it, Mike Stamford’s going to have no choice but to ban you from the morgue and lab.”

“You won’t let that happen though,” he said, giving her his best puppy dog look. “Will you?”

Molly looked down at Michael, who was leaning more heavily against her stomach. She cocked her head until she could see his face. “Wait here,” she said, scooping Michael up in her arms and carefully getting to her feet. “I need to put Michael down for his nap.” She paused to give Sherlock a hard look. “Do _not_ go away.”

Michael roused a bit when they entered his room, so Molly sat in the rocker to see if he wanted to nurse. He focused on her breast for a moment and then latched on, but after less than five minutes he had fallen asleep again. Molly settled him on his back in the cot, adjusted her clothing and picked up the baby monitor.

~~~~~

“All right, Sherlock … I’ll talk to Dr. Denis,” Molly said, drawing a knee onto the sofa and folding her leg under her as she shifted to face him. “But you better not try that sort of thing again with me – or anyone else at Barts. If you do, I’ll report you to Mike myself, brother-in-law or not.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but apparently thought better of whatever he’d been about to say. Finally, he simply said, “Thank you, Molly.”

Sherlock left with his container of mince pies soon after he’d admitted it all – or she _assumed_ he’d told her everything. She’d certainly hear the truth the next day from various parties if he hadn’t done a full disclosure. Molly snorted after a moment. _Situation normal,_ she thought. _Back to work indeed_.

**Author's Note:**

> My "Day" in the 12 Days of Mollcroft collection will be posted Sunday (January third) and is set, time-wise, on that date. The second part of this Back to Work installment bridges the remaining time before January third, and I hope to post it before the other story appears. If not, it will be posted very soon after - and no one but me probably cares that the two would have been posted out of order, but I'm a bit obsessive about such details!
> 
> HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL!! Hope 2016 will be a good year for you in every way. :)


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